


I'll Chase Them Anywhere

by mekana47



Category: Aladdin (2019), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Crossover, Family Drama, M/M, Magic, Post-Canon, Redeemed Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26404489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mekana47/pseuds/mekana47
Summary: Without breaking his stride, Nicky drops a kiss to Joe's shoulder where the singlet doesn’t cover the skin, brushes a palm over his hip, and says, “Your brother’s in the bedroom.”The wooden spoon bangs against the pan.-or-Joe's twin Jafar has an irritating habit of showing up unannounced to try to abduct and woo Nicky. This time, he forgot to account for the team.
Relationships: Jafar (Disney) & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 43
Kudos: 502





	I'll Chase Them Anywhere

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "A Whole New World."
> 
> Inspired by the Old Guard Kink Meme prompt [HERE](https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1468.html?thread=287676#cmt287676).

Joe slides the diced vegetables into the hot pan, but the sizzle doesn’t conceal the gentle pad of Nicky’s feet coming into the safehouse’s combination living room-kitchen.

“Morning,” Joe calls softly.

Nicky hums, half-asleep and still dressed in the loungewear he fell asleep in. He’s rarely vocal when he hasn’t been snapped awake and hasn’t had his coffee yet. Without breaking his stride, Nicky drops a kiss to Joe's shoulder where the singlet doesn’t cover the skin, brushes a palm over his hip, and says, “Your brother’s in the bedroom.”

The wooden spoon bangs against the pan.

“Please tell me there’s coffee,” Nicky says.

“Capsules in the drawer,” Joe says, automatically. Then he clicks off the stove, moving the pan to a cool burner, and turns to Nicky. “What’d he do this time?”

Nicky jams a capsule into the coffeemaker and sets a mug under the spout. It’s one Booker bought decades ago and protects from the others, but that potential problem isn’t even on their radar right now. 

“He’s just sleeping as far as I can tell.”

“Sleeping,” Joe echoes, his doubt and dread coloring the word. The fact Nicky made it out of the bedroom to give this warning means he’s probably telling the truth, but Joe can’t picture his asshole brother sneaking in just to take a nap. He could’ve grabbed Nicky and disappeared without a trace. 

Joe rubs his chest, like it might ease the twinge there.

Nicky hums around the first sip, scowling as the fresh coffee scalds his mouth. Joe winces in sympathy. Just because they heal instantly doesn’t mean they hurt themselves when it can be avoided. 

Nicky looks at the mug like it’s personally offended him, but he lifts it to his lips anyway. Joe catches Nicky’s wrist before he can take another sip. Nicky’s eyes flash, asking if this is the fight Joe really wants to have right now, but he doesn’t try to break the hold.

“That’s all?” Joe asks.

Nicky sets the mug on the counter, a concession Joe knows he’ll probably pay for later, but they’re both on edge when Jafar decides to show up unannounced, and he only ever shows up unannounced.

Nicky meets his eyes. “He was in your spot, curled around me, holding me like you do, sleeping.” His voice is as flat as his post-mission debriefs. “I figured it was best to make sure he hadn’t killed you this time.”

Joe cups his face, thumb swiping under his eye once before dropping away. “He didn’t.”

“Bene. What’s the next step?”

“I kill him.”

“It’s my turn to try to kill him,” Nicky nearly whines.

Joe smiles but even he can feel the fragility in it. It’s been at least forty years since Jafar last showed up. The encounters tend to blur together and Joe does his best to forget every one so the constant threat doesn’t interfere with their lives. Still, Joe’s pretty sure Jafar last tried to abduct Nicky from a rental in Lisbon just after the revolution. Joe had nearly cracked his skull with an _assa chouriço_ , but that hadn’t been the end of it. Now that he’s thinking about it, Joe can’t remember what did make Jafar leave them alone.

The footsteps in the hallway snap him back to the current situation. 

Booker, Andy, and Nile are supposed to arrive sometime this morning, but these steps are too heavy to be any of them.

Joe groans softly and drops his forehead to Nicky’s shoulder, trying to mentally prepare for a battle none of them ever really win. 

Nicky cups the back of Joe’s head, lightly scratching over the short curls at the nape of his neck before moving to cover one of his ears. Their bodies sway, Nicky’s shoulders twist sharply, and Joe flinches at the boom of the gunshot.

He shifts in Nicky’s hold, letting the protective hand slide to his neck. Nicky’s other arm is at his waist, the handgun he keeps under his pillow steady, even though he must’ve fired while pulling it out.

Jafar frowns at the bullet floating a meter from his own outstretched hand before he drops his arm and the bullet falls harmlessly into the carpet. “Good morning, Nicolò.” 

Nicky sneers but sets the gun on the counter next to the coffee mug. There was practically no chance that a bullet would’ve worked, but Joe can’t fault him for trying. Guns have changed so much since one of them had last tried that trick.

Joe turns to face Jafar, Nicky’s hand sliding down his spine before falling away. He keeps his voice neutral. “Brother.”

“Brother,” Jafar echoes with amusement. His lips press thin, clearly trying to suppress his glee with the situation.

Joe finds it hard to watch the expressions play over a face intentionally groomed to match his own.

“How long have you been watching us?” Nicky asks.

“I only just got up,” Jafar says, an intentional confusion in his tone. He’s playing with them, and he’s enjoying every second of it.

“The beard,” Joe explains. “That’s a new look for you.”

Jafar rubs his neat beard, groomed to the exact length Joe keeps his these days. “Do you like it? It will take some getting used to, but if it is what Nicolò prefers, I’m willing to make the sacrifice.”

Nicky snorts. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

“You haven’t heard what I’m offering.”

“I’m not interested,” Nicky says. “You should go.”

Jafar rubs his beard again, clearly still uncomfortable with it. “Tell me, Nicolò, has my brother been treating you well?”

Nicky’s still half-tucked behind Joe, sandwiched between him and the counter, but Joe sees him raise his chin. 

“You know he has.”

Jafar drops his hand, his focus solely on Nicky, and Joe shifts his weight forward, preparing to cross the distance in a sprint at the slightest provocation. They all know it will do no good. These family spats are the worst kind of stalemate.

“He lavishes you with gifts? With power you never could have imagined? He lets you live the luxurious life you deserve?” Jafar makes a show of looking around the safehouse’s outdated living room. The worn carpet, mismatched furniture, and a bare lightbulb answer his question.

“Brother,” Joe says, outwardly still blank, even if Nicky must be able to read the tension in him. Maybe Jafar can too. “Stop trying to steal the love of my life.”

“I’m not stealing anything,” Jafar says. “I’m making sure he knows his options. I’ve become even more powerful since our last family reunion. I have even more to offer someone who deserves everything.”

Joe rocks forward, but Nicky says, “You’ve never understood I’m not interested in power or whatever political scheme you’ve gotten yourself involved in this century.”

“I can make you happy,” Jafar tries, as close to desperate as he gets and unfortunately that’s when he's at his most dangerous. “You deserve so much more than a life on the run, hiding in crumbling cottages, and dying on the battlefields someone else has chosen. Let me show you how good life can be.”

“It doesn’t matter how much you look like Joe. You cannot mimic his heart.”

Jafar practically snarls, and he ripples his fingers. Between blinks, Nicky’s suddenly standing in front of Jafar, rocking forward, arms splayed as he fights to keep his balance. 

“Do not teleport me.” Nicky’s voice is the frozen calm he gets when he’s about to make someone regret all of their choices that brought them to this point.

Jafar makes an amused huff and reaches for Nicky’s chin. Nicky knocks his arm away and shoves him. In hand-to-hand, Nicky would win every bout, but Jafar wouldn’t have this life if he didn’t resort to cheating. He flicks his fingers toward Nicky’s face.

Nicky doesn’t finish cursing in Arabic before he crumples to the floor, unconscious.

“What did you do?” Joe bolts across the room and dives for Nicky so quickly he feels like he’s teleported too.

“Relax, Brother,” Jafar says, standing over both of them. “It’s only a simple sleeping spell. Harmless.”

“You know this isn’t a very good way to convince him you’ve changed.” Joe gathers Nicky in his arms, rolling him so he’s seated between his legs, his head flopping onto Joe’s shoulder hard enough it might bruise someone else. He presses his fingers to Nicky’s neck and finds the strong, steady pulse. 

Jafar waves a hand, and Joe clings to Nicky just a little tighter. Jafar’s magic doesn’t work on Joe, a convenient loophole that whatever protects Jafar from his own magic can’t tell the difference between twins, but it never stops Joe from fearing this will be the one time it works.

But Jafar’s merely waving off Joe’s concern. “He knows what I can do.”

Joe shakes his head. That wasn’t the point. “Wake him up.”

“No. I don’t believe I will.”

Joe bares his teeth, but Jafar only looks amused, and Joe struggles to come up with a plan. In Lisbon, had Nicky managed to convince Jafar to leave? Was that what had given them decades of peace?

Joe’s shoulders slump. “Why must you always do this?”

Jafar hums a query.

“You only want him because he’s refused you. We are perfectly happy here without you.”

“Yes,” Jafar drawls out the word and looks around their rough safehouse again, disdain making his lip curl. “Happy. I can certainly see that.” Jafar reaches down and snags Nicky’s wrist. “No matter, I’ll be taking him with me now. If he can’t imagine what his life would be like with me, I’ll just have to show him what he’s been missing.” 

Magic must aid him, because Jafar has Nicky standing and slumped against his chest far too easily.

Joe scrambles to his feet and grabs Nicky’s other wrist, his voice low and dangerous. “You aren’t taking him anywhere.”

Jafar ripples his fingers vaguely backwards, and a portal appears against the wall. “Don’t worry. Nicolò has a kind heart. I’m sure he’ll let you visit every century or two.”

Joe pulls on Nicky’s wrist, throwing Jafar off balance. Jafar narrows his eyes and jerks on his captive wrist, taking half a step toward the portal. Joe yanks again, silently apologizing to Nicky’s unconscious body when his head whips to the side, but he’s not letting Jafar whisk him into the unknown. 

Nicky’s a warrior who’s escaped far more abductions than Joe can remember, but Jafar is different. The unshakable tightness in Joe’s chest says if Jafar takes him now, he’ll never see him again.

“Come now, Brother,” Jafar says. “I’ve let you two have your fun for nearly a millennium. It’s time for progress.”

Jafar pulls Nicky harder, and Nicky’s head flops over and catches him in the cheekbone with a startling crack. 

“What the hell is going on here?” Andy demands from the front doorway.

Joe seizes the double distractions and pulls hard enough to break Jafar’s hold. Nicky’s deadweight slams into his chest, and Joe cradles him as they stumble down to the floor again.

“Well,” Jafar says, shutting down the portal. “This is unexpected.”

With the immediate escape route gone, Joe risks a glance at Andy. She stands with her arms loose at her sides despite a bag from a bakery in her fist. Booker and Nile stay frozen closer to the doorway, cloth shopping bags weighing them down.

“Joe,” Andy commands, “start talking now.”

Joe blows out a noisy breath, a sound that Nicky says shows his age far more than anything else in his life. “This is my brother, Jafar. Jafar, the team.”

Nile shifts, uncharacteristically uncomfortable, and Joe focuses back on Jafar. The way he’s scrutinizing the team doesn’t seem ill-willed, but Joe never assumes to know his brother’s motives.

“Your brother?” The grocery bags thud against the floor as Booker speaks. “Your biological 900-something-year-old brother?”

“Unfortunately.” Joe grimaces. 

Biological families are always going to be a sensitive topic for any of them, and Joe’s just admitted to having had one all along, a brother like the one Nile had to leave behind.

“And you didn’t tell us about him because…?” Andy uses her disapproving tone, the one Nile hasn’t managed to completely overcome yet. Joe’s long been immune, but he answers anyway.

“He’s an asshole.”

Booker asks, “Is Nicky okay?” 

“He’d better be,” Joe says darkly.

“You know I wouldn’t hurt Nicolò.” Jafar tells Joe with a surprising amount of earnestness, like it genuinely pains him to think of Nicky in pain despite what he’s just done, what he always does.

“The evidence says otherwise.” Joe holds his gaze with nothing more to add.

Nile breaks the stalemate. “Why don’t I dream about you?”

Jafar returns his focus to the team, and Joe forces down his irritation that none of this is helping Nicky. It’s fair for the team to have questions, and he probably wouldn’t mind answering them if Nicky were conscious already, but it’s not as though can force Jafar to wake him up either.

“He’s not immortal,” Joe says, letting a bit of glee into his voice just to piss off Jafar. He’s not above taking the advantage however he can get it. “He’s just a dark sorcerer who uses his powers to lengthen his natural lifespan.”

“Just a sorcerer?” Jafar mutters.

Joe rolls his eyes and risks another glance at the team.

“Wait, no one said…” Nile starts. “Magic is real?” 

“No,” Booker says as Andy says, “Not anymore.”

Booker’s head snaps around, but Andy’s focus stays locked on Jafar. Joe’s soothed that at least someone else has their priorities straight in this mess. 

“I mean you no harm,” Jafar says.

Joe snorts, “Wake him up then.”

Jafar drums his fingers on his opposite forearm and considers the team, then he looks down at Nicky with such fondness that Joe tightens his grip.

“Fine, move him to the couch.”

Booker crosses to Joe, catching his wrist and pulling him to his feet. With Nicky pressed between them, they stumble to the couch with the familiarity of carrying one another across a battlefield. 

The front door closes, but Joe keeps his eyes on Nicky settled on his back across the couch. Standing on the other side of the couch’s arm, Joe gives into the urge to brush Nicky’s hair. He doesn’t look anything like he does when he’s sleeping naturally, but Joe can’t pinpoint what’s wrong.

“How does this work?” Booker asks, crouched in front of the couch. 

Jafar huffs, but he approaches without hesitation. He waves a hand over Nicky, flicks his fingers, and says, “It’s done. He’ll wake in a few moments.”

“Why don’t you sit down then,” Andy says, and nothing about it sounds like a suggestion. She waits on the edge of the room, Nile half a step behind her.

Jafar tilts his head, as though he’s making a grand concession for her sake, but he hasn’t shown any signs of wanting to flee either. It must just be curiosity about their team. He perches in the faded floral armchair, his posture military-straight, but he manages to make it look prim and proper.

“He’ll have a foul taste in his mouth,” Jafar says, too matter-of-fact to be an apology even as he looks at Nicky. “He might be a little unsteady too.”

Joe frowns, glances at the kitchen, and meets Booker’s eyes. Working together for so long means Booker can read the request in his expression.

“We’ve got him,” Booker says. 

Nile touches Joe’s arm as she crosses to take up a post at the end of the couch. Andy drops into the second armchair in a wide sprawl that could hide how quickly she can move when provoked. 

Even she won’t be able to move faster than magic, though.

Joe squeezes Booker’s shoulder and takes two careful steps back, his eyes on Jafar. He takes one more before conceding, turning to the kitchen. He dumps out the mug of cold coffee and shoves a new capsule into the machine.

“He’s waking,” Nile says.

Joe tries not to drum his fingers as the coffee pours through too slowly. He grabs the half full mug, burning his finger on the coffee still pouring out of the spout and straight into the machine’s drain. The sting only increases his irritation. 

He’s one step out of the kitchen when Nicky shoots upright.

“Joe?” Nicky’s head whips around to take in the room.

“I’m here, hayati.”

“He didn’t?”

“No.”

Nicky sags into the couch, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Then he lunges off the couch toward Jafar, tripping over his own feet with a lack of coordination so uncharacteristic it must be the magical side effects.

“Whoa,” Booker says, catching Nicky and lowering him to sit on the couch.

Jafar laughs. “Just can’t stay away, can you?”

Nicky grimaces, clearly torn between lunging again and throwing up.

“Here,” Joe murmurs, passing him the mug and perching on the arm of the couch.

Booker tracks the mug, but he settles on the floor again without a word. Joe doesn’t doubt that fight will still be happening eventually. He almost yearns for the normalcy of fighting over something so simple. Maybe he’ll provoke it later, in case Booker decides to find some pity and not argue about his mug.

Nicky accepts the coffee and tips to rest his cheek against Joe’s hip, his eyes drifting half closed, but none of them are fooled into thinking he’s relaxed. Joe cups his fingers around Nicky’s neck, rubbing gently in a way they both find soothing.

“How did you know that wasn’t Joe?” Nile asks.

Nicky flops his hand through the air as he swallows his first sip of coffee, then says, “They don’t look anything alike.”

Joe and Jafar make identical amused sounds, undermining his point.

“Ok, maybe,” Nicky concedes, “but somewhere around the… what mid-16th century? Jafar decided his newest way to torment us would be to take Joe’s place as often as he could. After three years of having the wrong brother show up at random intervals, they don’t look alike to me anymore.”

“Did you ever…?” Booker asks, smirking and lifting his eyebrows as if his suggestive tone hadn’t already filled in the rest of the question.

Joe blanches even though he knows the answer.

“No.” Nicky wrinkles his nose.

“He kissed me once,” Jafar says, dreamy with the memory.

“Also a dead giveaway,” Nicky says.

Jafar scowls, but his body has shifted into something closer to a sprawl, unthreatening in the same way Andy is ever unthreatening.

“This morning?” Joe asks. “You said he was behind you. How’d you know then?”

Nicky’s shoulder ticks up in a half-shrug. “The beard felt wrong.”

“It felt wrong?” Jafar echoes. He sounds somewhere between professionally curious and insulted as he leans forward. The whole team tenses, and he explicitly reclines in the chair again. “How can it feel wrong?”

Nicky shrugs and finishes his coffee.

Looking closer at Jafar’s beard, Joe can tell it’s identical to his own, even down to the few errant hairs he trims shorter to keep them from jutting out sideways. Jafar drags his fingers through it, trying to feel for any flaws, anything that might have given him away. Then he rubs across the front and reveals the shorter beard he usually keeps. His hair is suddenly back in its usual short style as well.

Nicky sags harder into Joe, a little more tension running out of him, and Joe agrees with the sentiment. The fewer tricks Jafar is pulling, the better off they’ll be.

“So what happens now?” Nile asks.

“He’ll be fully recovered in a few minutes more,” Jafar says, but Andy’s already shaking her head.

“What are you going to do now?”

“Ah,” he says, and for the first time he looks truly uncomfortable. If nearly a millennium of only showing up when Joe and Nicky are alone is any indication, he’d never intended to meet the team at all.

“You should stay for breakfast,” Booker says.

Jafar’s mouth drops open before he catches it. He catalogues each of their faces, saving Joe for last. “Yusuf?”

Joe tilts his head, considering. It’s clear this is a tipping point in this morbid game they’ve been forced to play, but Joe’s not sure any of them know what the other options are anymore. “Do what you want.”

It’s a terrifying thing to say to someone so powerful, and Jafar swallows, blatantly uncomfortable to be the focus of all the team’s attention, or perhaps he truly doesn’t know his own desires anymore.

“Come on,” Booker says, pushing up from the floor. “We’ll lay out the food from the market.”

“There’s filling for an omelet on the stove,” Joe says. “You can probably salvage it.”

“Not with the amount of butter he uses,” Nicky teases, and Booker’s lazy swipe at his head only ruffles Nicky’s hair.

Jafar looks around again. When no one objects, he stands, trailing after Booker to the bags of groceries by the door and into the kitchen.

“Feel up to moving?” Joe asks Nicky.

Nicky takes a deep breath, shifts away from Joe, and stands, wobbling a little.

“Thought you said this spell was harmless,” Joe says, lifting his voice so Jafar can’t pretend he doesn’t hear.

Jafar keeps rummaging through a shopping bag. “He will be fine.”

Joe grumbles but takes the excuse to keep his arm around Nicky as he guides him to the battered table and one of its mismatched chairs. They sit, and Nicky leans into his side, heavy and worn.

“Have those two always been like this?” Booker asks, softly, from where he’s bent over the stove, but the room is so small he has to know his voice will carry.

“Dreadfully in love?” Jafar muses.

“Yes, exactly.”

“Not during my first few encounters with Nicolò,” Jafar concedes, laying all the fruit across the counter in a precise order only he could probably discern. “They took a while to get to… this, but lately, the last 700 years at least, yes, they’re always like this.”

Booker starts whisking a bowl of eggs. “It can be hard to take sometimes. Seeing them and knowing… well, sorry, I don’t know enough about you to make these kinds of assumptions, but sometimes, I find it hard, at least, being alone when they’re not.”

Joe catches Nicky’s hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, torn between being proud of Booker for expressing his feelings and irritated that this is an issue with no easy solutions. Time has healed a lot of wounds since the London mess, but sometimes its ghosts rise up when they least expect them.

Nicky squeezes back, refusing to ration his affection. 

Jafar snaps his fingers, a sharp noise in the silence.

Joe and Nicky startle so badly they both ram knees into the bottom of the table. The bang makes Andy and Nile jolt in their own chairs.

“Ah,” Jafar says, something complicated playing on his face as he holds up a bowl now filled with the fruit he magically peeled, pitted, and diced. “Just fruit?”

Joe slowly relaxes again, not soothed but accepting the excuse. Jafar’s probably never tapered his magic for anyone. Nicky presses up into his own chair, unsteady and on edge, but Joe certainly can’t blame him.

Booker turns off the stove, and they settle at the table with the food.

As soon as they’ve passed around the bag of pastries and filled their plates, Andy asks, “Why now?”

Jafar hums around an almond slice.

“It sounds like you pop in and out whenever you want, so why choose today, of all days, to uphold the Al-Kaysani tradition of violence as flirting?”

Joe grimaces, and Nicky makes a sound like everything suddenly makes sense to him. 

Everything had better not suddenly make sense to him.

Jafar meets her gaze. “I finalized my takeover of an American defense contracting company last night. The success made me want to check on Nicolò, and the two of them seemed to be alone. It seemed fortuitous timing. I didn’t intend to fall asleep.”

Andy blinks.

“I’ve surprised you? Defense contracts are where the real power is these days, of course.”

“The two of them?” Andy asks instead. “You only come around when they’re both alone?”

Jafar waves the almond slice to wave away the question, but it’s too late. It’s taken seed in Joe’s brain, and he’s turning it over and dissecting it from every angle. If Jafar’s plan has always been to abduct Nicky, why hasn’t he ever appeared when Nicky’s alone? They’ve been separated for months when the need arises and years on a few occasions, but Jafar—

“What happened with the sorceress?” Nicky asks.

Joe startles. “What sorceress?”

Jafar rubs the bridge of his nose, an old tell that tickles something in Joe’s memories.

“Last time, in… Lisbon, was it? I told him instead of refusing to accept my rejections, he should find a nice powerful sorceress and have a handful of terrifying magical assassin babies.” He tilts his head at Jafar. “I thought that was the plan.”

Booker cackles, and Joe sets down his fork to breathe through the sudden all-encompassing fear. _That’s_ how Nicky had convinced him to leave? 

“It’s not that ridiculous,” Jafar says softly. 

Unbidden, the image arises: a hoard of miniature Jafars, some with pigtails instead of beards, hurling magic at one another while they race around the old oak cork trees outside their childhood home. He hasn’t thought about that spot in centuries, the trees and the home long destroyed and replaced in the name of progress, but something about the image doesn’t seem so unbearable.

“And despite what you might think, Nicolò,” Jafar leans back in his chair, ignoring the ominous wobble of one of the legs, “there aren’t exactly hordes of available sorcerers advertising their presence around the world.”

Nicky must be making those soft eyes he gets when Booker says something particularly sad, because Jafar falters.

“You should eat something,” Jafar says. “The spell seems to be lingering longer than I’d expected.”

It’s an apology in all but the words.

Nicky spears a peach and makes a point of eating it. Joe picks up his own fork in solidarity or something like it and returns to his own breakfast.

Booker, finished with his food, turns to better face Jafar and asks, “Do you love him?”

Joe suddenly regrets every single conversation they’ve had about how he can and should be more open with the team.

“Which one?” Jafar answers immediately.

Booker laughs. “Both? Either?”

Jafar’s quiet for a long enough that Booker’s face pinches, apparently only now regretting asking such a personal question, but Nicky’s gone still and intense like he’s watching down the scope of his rifle for the smallest tell. It always makes Joe sit up and pay attention too.

Jafar, when he answers, doesn’t look away from Booker. “Yusuf— Joe’s all I have from before.”

Booker hums, “Is that a good thing? The reminder?”

Jafar doesn’t answer, and Booker doesn’t press. With all the people and places they’ve had no choice but to lose to the past, it’s a tricky subject. Andy’s inability to remember her homeland, her very name lingers silent and heavy.

“So,” Nile says suddenly, like she’s hoping to keep an awkward silence from falling but instead she’s drawn more attention to the awkwardness. Bless his family, she leans into it, “can anyone learn magic?”

“Ah,” Jafar actually glances at Joe, almost seeking permission, but he answers without waiting for an answer, “Technically, maybe? The basics of the dark arts are simple enough to understand with training, but how well it works varies.”

Nile nods, as if that explanation made any sense. “Maybe something to consider in a couple centuries then.”

It’s impossible to tell if she’s joking, but it doesn’t matter. The tension’s broken, and the conversation slides into lighter topics. They linger over the food, and Joe manages to coax Nicky into having some of the omelet. Eventually, the conversation stagnates again, and Jafar rakes his eyes over Nicky.

The way the morning began slams back into Joe in an instant, and he can’t help tensing.

“I’m fine,” Nicky says. “The food helped.”

Jafar blinks and looks away. “Well, are you here for a job?”

He says “job” like it’s a dirty word, as if he can’t believe there are still people who don’t simply materialize more wealth or take over multinational corporations as a hobby.

“Yes,” Booker says.

Jafar steeples his fingers and nods solemnly. “Then I suppose I should be out of your way.” He pushes back his chair and stands. “Thank you for breakfast.” The words come out closer to a recitation from an old etiquette manual than anything heartfelt. “This was…”

“It was,” Andy agrees.

Booker grins, “Next time, I want to hear your embarrassing stories of those two.” He jerks his thumb at Nicky and Joe, and Jafar follows the motion.

“Oh, yes, please,” Nile says, but Jafar’s still looking at the other two.

“Those don’t exist,” Nicky says, and he’s certainly feeling better if he’s up to being a little shit. 

“Brother,” Joe says with a nod. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough to confirm that yes, there can be a next time.

“If you stop being such an asshole,” Nicky says, his expression unreadable, “maybe you don’t need to stay away so long this time?”

Jafar freezes, and the unnatural stillness puts them all on edge.

“Nicolò— Nicky,” he says slowly, tasting the name, “I think you deserve better than my brother, but” –he keeps talking over Nicky and Joe’s outraged shouts— “perhaps a millennia means you’ve made your choice, and I will have to… see it your way.”

Nicky’s mouth shifts with the hint of a smile, and he lays his hand upturned on Joe’s thigh, so Joe can lace their fingers together. 

“Thank you,” Joe says, because it isn’t enough to fix centuries of rivalry, but it’s an offering and Jafar wouldn’t make such a thing without meaning it.

Jafar nods once crisply, then adds, “That doesn’t mean I won’t be keeping you on your toes.”

Joe rubs his free hand over his face, but the humor leaks into his voice. “Just stay out of my bed.”

Jafar’s mouth twitches. He takes another step back from the table, looks at the team, and then he’s gone.

Joe lets out a long breath and droops, feeling safe for the first time since Nicky had told him Jafar had returned. 

It’s a big change, and Joe will probably spend the next few weeks looking over his shoulder, wondering if this whole situation was a ploy to lure them into a false sense of security. That’s never been Jafar’s style though. Somehow, it’s now more likely he’ll abruptly appear for another meal sometime when they aren’t concentrating on a job

Nicky bumps his shoulder, and Joe looks to Andy, “Tell us about this job, boss?”

“Nuh-uh,” Booker jumps in. “First things first, which one of you decided to desecrate my mug?”

Nicky laughs, open and delighted. Andy huffs around a smile, and Nile leans away, unsure what’s happening but knowing she wants no part of it.

Joe releases Nicky’s hand and settles in to watch them fight like family.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, check out two other fills for the prompt: [FrozenHearts](/users/FrozenHearts/)' [One Jump Ahead](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25967572), and [Hyaluronic](/users/Hyaluronic/)'s [Anything You Can Do (I Can Cheat at Better)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26425564).


End file.
